


Something

by ziraseal



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Falling In Love, Searching for a purpose, holtzmann's perspective, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:15:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraseal/pseuds/ziraseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jillian Holtzmann had never felt recognized in her life for her skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something

                Jillian Holtzmann had never felt recognized in her life for her skills. From her fantastic K’NEX rubber band machine gun (operated by a webcam and remote controlled from her computer) at age nine to nearly blowing up Mr. Sullivan’s lab in seventh grade, no adult believed that she was a true genius.

                Except for Dad and Daddy.

                During stormy nights when she was still a pre-teen, Mr. Holtzmann would always shake his head and smile to himself when he caught his husband Dave and their daughter Jillian underneath the blanket fort in the living room— programming a Raspberry PI— and he would wander into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for the three of them. Being a Biologist, Thomas wasn’t nearly as acquainted with technology as Dave, the resident Chemist of the Holtzmann household.

                “What if I put a camera in this slot, Dad?” Jillian murmured, her tongue poking from between her teeth. “And feed this wire under the bar?”

                “Oh, that seems like a reasonable plan,” Dave agreed. He accepted a cup of cocoa from his husband before snuggling further into the fort, “Did you make a blueprint for this device?”

                “Blueprints are for dudes!”

                “She’s not wrong,” Thomas laughed, settling himself on the couch and flipping through his research notes.

                “Blueprints are for dudes,” Dave repeated in a whisper, kissing Jillian on the top of her head.

                Eventually, both Mr. and Mr. Holtzmann had lost track of time (at least it’d been a weekend, and not a school night), and they looked away from a particularly beautiful field drawing of a butterfly in Thomas’s notes to see that their little Jillian had fallen asleep on the tiny computer. The circuit board left imprints in her cheek, and both men couldn’t help but quietly laugh before Dave offered to carry her to bed. When he walked back down to the kitchen, he noticed Thomas sitting at the dining table with a letter in his hand. Dave walked behind him and rested his hands on his husband’s shoulders.

                “She’s been expelled from another after-school club,” Thomas sighed.

                “Jillian is an angel,” Dave reminded his husband. “They don’t respect that, and they’re missing out on something wonderful.”

                But true scientists don’t believe in “angels”; there’s no research nor evidence to back that sort of nonsense up.

                Dave bit his lip and gently pulled the letter out of his husband’s grip. He then stored the paper in a manila folder that they kept for Jillian’s… well… more incriminating documents. Perhaps someday, Jillian would look back on these letters and laugh— both husbands certainly knew that they would. They knew how smart their daughter really was, and no amount of exclusion from extra-curricular activities would stop their little girl from realizing her potential.

 

*             *             *

 

                Jillian Holtzmann had never felt recognized in her life for her skills. From her terrific ideas that she had proposed during Robotics Club meetings in her senior year (age 15) to graduating from Stanford for a thesis on nuclear-powered holographic technology (age 19) to earning her engineering masters at MIT with a wild hairdo and a crazy smile and a ludicrous dissertation (age 23), people have always been reluctant to reward her, only doing so, that they might avoid having to deal with her “eccentrics” again. She felt as though the certificate in her hands had been given to her because MIT wanted her gone and on her way, rather than having earned the engineering degree— no matter how smart she truly was.

                But she smiled and waved at her two dads in the fourteenth row. And her heart leapt when they waved back. Jillian glanced down at the little rainbow ribbon, pinned to the shirt underneath her graduation robe. She’d come out to them as gay that morning, knowing all too well that they would support her one-hundred percent. And though Jillian had spent the past eight years in prestigious scientific academia, where the metaphysical wasn’t even brought up, she couldn’t help but wonder in that moment if there was a special entity that had put her with her fathers. Knowing that she’d turn out gay, too. Like destiny.

                But true scientists don’t believe in “destiny”; there’s no research nor evidence to back that sort of nonsense up.

                But Holtzmann wasn’t technically employed in any field of research, so perhaps she didn’t have to call herself a scientist just yet. She wandered down to the grassy lawn where parents were tearfully embracing their children. Jillian moseyed into her father’s arms and let a shaky sigh escape her lungs.

                “You did it,” Dave laughed, “and you only blew up _one_ lab this semester!”

                “I cleaned up after myself,” Jillian defended. “It was a little poof.”

                Thank goodness that the lab belonged to none other than Dr. Gorin, who was sitting among the other professors and accepting handshakes from graduate students. The older woman’s head turned and she stared into Jillian’s eyes with a determined fire. The graduate sent her a wild, crazy smile and recalled one of her favorite memories.

 

                _Two Years Earlier:_

_“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think that compound would react with this solution!” Holtzmann stuttered, desperately attempting to wipe the mess up with a rag— the cloth disintegrating in the acid._

_Dr. Gorin sprayed the mess with a bottle of purple liquid, which seemingly neutralized the acids and allowed for Jillian to clean the puddle up (before more holes could be burnt into her jeans). The older woman towered over the senior with her arms crossed, a scowl donning her face. Between the staunch white lab coat, the giant diamond ring on her tapping ring-finger, and the large yellow glasses that made her look bug-eyed, the doctor was rather intimidating._

_“That’s your problem, Jillian. For as smart as you are, sometimes you just don’t think.”_

_Ashamed, the girl said nothing._

_But then the professor kneeled down beside her and handed a few more paper towels. She smiled at Jillian and took off her yellow-tinted glasses, passing them to the girl._

_“I think that impulse is what makes you brilliant. It’s what separates you from the rest of the students here. You are going to go places, but those places might not be as lenient as I am. So you better watch your ass, okay kid?”_

_Jillian sniffled and finished wiping up the mess of wires and smoldering liquids (she didn’t even know it could do that) and stood. Disposing the trash, she pulled the glasses out of her pocket and stared at them._

_“Are you giving these to me?”_

_Dr. Gorin was already back at her desk, reviewing papers and signing permission forms, “Of course.”_

_“Why?”_

_The professor thoughtfully paused before setting her pen down and swiveling her office chair, “I think you need to see the world in a different color for a while. A color that others don’t look through. With the right perspective, you may begin to see solutions that others can’t.”_

_Holtzmann, that was what everyone called her these days, unfolded the glasses and set them on her face. There was a small crack in the corner of the right lens, but she cared very little._

_“How do I look?” she asked her professor._

_Dr. Gorin didn’t even bother to look up from the paper, but Jillian could see the grin from across the room;_

_“Like a genius.”_

_Later that night, Holtzmann was hanging out in the welding shop when she found two small pieces of metal in the scrap bin. She was so tired (and jacked up on caffeine) that when she realized that they were in the shape of a U, she began laughing. Thankfully, the woodshop was next door, through a classroom and past a spare computer lab. She unlocked the cage where boxes upon boxes of screws were stored and found two shiny woodscrews to do her bidding. Jillian raced back to the lab and threw on a welding jacket, snickering to herself underneath the helmet._

_She was supposed to be studying for a final or something, but this couldn’t wait._

_Holtzmann welded the screws to the U-shaped pieces of metal, tacking on two rings so that she could string hers up to a chain. The other, she put on a safety pin, knowing full well that Rebecca Gorin did not wear necklaces._

_And so when she showed up to Dr. Gorin’s office at midnight with a wild look in her eyes, holding up the pins with a sense of pride, she explained that it was only fair that the professor received something of hers in exchange for the glasses._

_It was then and there that Holtz realized she had a major crush on the woman._

_Dr. Gorin tacked the pin to her jacket and smiled at it before asking Jillian what she wanted to do with her life. Holtzmann scuffed her boot against the carpet and shrugged;_

_“I want to build whatever the hell I want.”_

_The professor laughed and stood, “There’s not a lot of job openings for someone that ambitious. Most of the government branches would wish for you to stay in line.”_

_Jillian hesitated. She’d never thought about what would happen after school._

_“Um… I don’t think I want to work for the government… I’ve never liked the look of those people…”_

_Dr. Gorin nodded, “That’s rather smart. Too many rules, too many regulations. Are you going to wander into the black market then? Build nukes for North Korea?”_

_“A scientist that wants to build for the sake of war isn’t a scientist. They’re a tool.”_

_“And who taught you that?”_

_“My dads are very anti-war, professor.”_

_Letting out a snort through her nose, Dr. Gorin wandered over to the filing cabinet and pressed a button on the side. A door opened up and revealed that the cabinet was not, in fact, for papers— but rather for alcohol. The doctor brought out two glasses and then paused._

_“You’re twenty-one, right? Is the drinking age still twenty-one in this country?”_

_“Yes and yes, Dr. Gorin.”_

_The professor paused again, “But you’ve never had anything to drink, have you?”_

_Holtzmann raised an eyebrow, “How could you tell?”_

_“You’re too stiff. Here, this is rather relaxing after a few glasses.”_

_“This breaks at least three different rules that can get me expelled,” Jillian warned her._

_But Dr. Gorin had already begun to down her glass of brandy, merely sitting down in her office chair and cracking open the university manual. She took a sip and flipped to the third page._

_“No, we’re breaking twenty-one different rules right now. If you’re going to live off-the-book, you might as well read it first.”_

_“Are you encouraging me to break rules?” Holtzmann asked, taking her first-ever sip of alcohol._

_Huh. It wasn’t as bitter as she had thought it would be. But perhaps her mind was so focused on the woman across the office from her that her pallet couldn’t comprehend the drink. While her glass was still full, Dr. Gorin took the opportunity to pour herself another serving._

_“Always break the rules, if you can help it.”_

_Jillian Holtzmann toasted the professor without another word, enjoying a few silent sips and realizing that she didn’t so much have a crush on Dr. Gorin as she wanted to be like her when she grew up._

_If she ever grew up._

                “Congratulations,” Dave murmured into her ear, “Doctor Jillian Holtzmann, profession in… in… Thomas, what was she doing again?”

                “Particle physics, you dolt,” her other father quipped, smacking Dave on the shoulder.

                “Oh yeah. When you get old, it’s hard to keep track of things,” her dad chuckled, still holding onto her.

                “I’ll have to build you a robot that reminds you,” Jillian mused.

                “As long as it doesn’t set anything on fire, it’s fine by me.”

                And even though it felt as though she was never truly wanted at Stanford or MIT (beyond status as a trophy for their precious recruitment statistics), Holtzmann felt as though the promise of building her silly middle-aged fathers a robot to help around the house was more than enough to justify her doctorate. They took her to an ice-cream shop once most of the traffic had dispersed and bought her a large, rainbow-colored cone to celebrate both her second degree and her nerve to come out of the closet. Holtzmann took her yellow glasses out of her pocket and proudly slung them over the bridge of her nose.

 

*             *             *

 

 

                Jillian Holtzmann had never felt recognized in her life for her skills. She was stuck in the basement of a community college dedicated to “scyence” (age 29), ninety percent sure that her coworker was dead. The seventy-something hag that taught “scientific conspiracy theory” in the lecture hall next door for the past five years and never so much as touched a Bunsen burner or a beaker. Holtzmann pretty much had the lab to herself, teaching particle physics theory to unenthusiastic teenagers (limited to teaching theory since Kenneth P. Higgins could barely afford paperclips, much less proper equipment).

                Despite the teaching setback, Holtzmann had a fucking lab all to herself. She taught in the morning and tinkering in the afternoons and evening. Professor Gustin went home long before that, so she would usually curl up on a dirty mattress she had tucked away in the corner instead of biking all the way home to an equally messy apartment. Besides, there was a vending machine across the hall.

                Since Mildred, or Barbara, or whatever the old crone’s name was, hadn’t shown up for a few weeks, Holtzmann had made the professional decision to take over the other half of the office— setting up a hammock and napping in between office hours and classes. Today, she was just dozing off, curled up with her favorite blowtorch, when she heard a knock on the door.

                “Come in,” she murmured, not even bothering to open her eyes. It was likely just another student wanting to know why CANVAS hadn’t updated their grades.

                Another knock on the door.

                “COME IN!!” she shouted.

                It took her a moment to realize that the knocking was not coming from the main door to the lab, but from the closet door to her right. Holtzmann slowly pulled herself out of the hammock and wrenched the closet door open, unsure as to why someone would even be in there in the first place.

                “Uh… hello?”

                But the closet was empty. Holtzmann stepped inside and turned the lightbulb on, expecting to find some clever noisemaker planted by one of the other professors (the staff at Kenneth P. Higgins were certainly as juvenile as the students).

                _BAM!!_

                Absolutely startled, Jillian jumped up and hit the closet ceiling, groaning and rubbing the top of her head before turning to see that the closet door was locked. Sealed. Oh shit. Holtzmann banged on the door and let out a yelp.

                The lights flickered.

                “Alright, good joke, you guys!” she shouted, at no one in particular. “Can you let me out now?”

                The already dim lightbulb burst, covering Jillian’s hair with broken glass. Thank goodness she’d had the thought to wear her yellow-tinted glasses— for the metal that surrounded them kept her eyes safe from the shards that fell around her.

                “Shit,” she murmured. “What the hell is going on?”

                Why wasn’t there a doorknob on the inside of the closet? What genius would— oh right, this school was built by idiots. Holtzmann sighed and decided to wait it out, sliding down to the floor and wincing when her palms accidentally made contact with more glass on the floor. She tried not to pay attention to the weird blue light seeping through the spacing near the floor, wondering if Barbara, or Mildred, or whatever her name was, had decided to pay her a visit after all.

                But true scientists don’t believe in the “paranormal”; there’s no research nor evidence to back that sort of nonsense up.

                               

 Four hours later, Holtzmann awoke to find a middle-aged lady with jet black hair standing over her, a key to the closet dangling in her fingers. The woman was short, stocky, and had a perfect resting bitch face. Jillian instantly took a liking to her.

                “Are you Professor Holtzmann? Why were you in the closet?”

                “I haven’t been in the closet for six years,” Jillian smirked at her little joke. “I was… locked in?”

                “By?”

                “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

                “Abigail Yates,” the woman introduced, sticking out her hand, “Try me.”

                “A ghost locked me in there.”

                She figured that if she weirded out her newest coworker with something so obviously fraudulent, then she was simply one step closer to getting the lab back to herself. But Professor Yates had the… the queerest look on her face… as though she actually believed Holtz.

                “If you were to rank it between a T-1 and a T-4, what would you say this entity was classified as?” Yates inquired.

                “Whaaa?”

                “Oh. I forget that most people don’t know what that— what did the ghost do?”

                “Knocked on the door, locked me in the closet, and blew up the lightbulb. Beyond that, she could’ve done anything.”

                “Hmm… I’d put that at a T-2, but it depe— hang on. _She_? You knew her?”

                “Yeah, I think it was Professor Gustin.”

                “They told me she was on leave,” Yates frowned.

                Holtzmann crawled back into the hammock, “I’m pretty sure she kicked the bucket and came back to yell at me for never cleaning up after my messes. I’m gonna catch some zzz’s. You can take the left side of the lab.”

                “Jillian—”

                “Holtzmann.”

                “Okay. Holtzmann, you do realize that you have glass in your hair?”

                “Another day at the office, sweetie.”

                With that, Holtzmann left Abby to move in, curling back up with her blowtorch as though she hadn’t just spent four hours in a closet— potentially hiding from something that most people in her profession didn’t even believe in.

                “But you’re not really a scientist,” Dr. Gorin’s voice entered the back of her head, “You’re a mad genius. So lighten up and believe in something impossible for the day.”

                She spent the rest of the night reading Professor Yate’s long lost book on the paranormal and finished it before dawn. Jillian Holtzmann was 100% convinced that ghosts were real, and she knew exactly how to build something to wrangle them in and test them. She just needed a research partner and some more materials. Thankfully, Abby was more than willing to partner up with her.

                Holtzmann couldn’t help but wonder who this “Erin Gilbert” was, but she didn’t have the heart to pick at someone else’s scars.

               

*             *             *

 

                Jillian Holtzmann had finally begun to feel recognized by someone, and despite the enthusiasm from her dads, and the encouragement of Dr. Gorin, and the degrees from Stanford and MIT, there was something absolutely thrilling about having a best friend and nerding out over _fucking ghosts_ (age 31). They even managed to change the nameplate outside the lab to make it official— “Paranormal Studies”. Her dads literally hung up the phone laughing when she told them what she was researching, but she knew that they would still support her, and the jocularity was in no way intended to make her feel bad. They simply needed to get their giggles out before calling back within fifteen seconds and apologizing. She didn’t blame them, penciling in a dinner date and making both Dave and Thomas promise that they’d read _“Ghosts from Our Pasts”_. Both Dad and Daddy agreed, but only because they missed their daughter.

                She slept in the laboratory less and in stranger’s apartments more. Holtzmann had taken a talent to convincing women to invite her home for the night after a few drinks and… well… showing her around. Something about Jillian’s ability to flirt was so powerful that within ten minutes she could get a girl in the alleyway behind the bar with her tongue down Holtz’s throat. Perhaps it was in the sultry voice (stolen directly from _Carol Aired fifties suave_ ), or maybe it was the wink and the smile after a well-planned pick up line, but something about her drew in crowds of queer women.

                At any rate, Holtzmann awoke one morning to realize that, despite the fun she was having sleeping around with random girls and studying ghosts with Abby, she was unsatisfied with her life.

                She rolled out of bed and took a look at the beautiful girl peacefully snoozing next to her before reaching down and throwing her YOGSCAST tank top over her shoulders and tugging the fabric over her tummy. She thought about it for a brief moment before leaning down and kissing the bare back of the sleeping beauty— who didn’t so much as stir at the contact. Holtz wandered out of the bedroom, slung her leather jacket over her neck like a teenage boy at prom, and skipped out of the apartment.

                _“I’m unhappy,”_ she thought to herself, hailing a cab. _“I’m unhappy and something needs to change.”_

 

                Of course, that was the afternoon that she met Dr. Erin Gilbert.

               

                She hadn’t meant to pry, but she couldn’t help herself— sitting in her chair and reading up on an article on magnetorheological fluid and its properties— when a rather peculiar woman walked into the room. Jillian could only stare, her breath caught in her throat, before setting the article down and observing the woman argue with Abby.

                “God! Are you kidding me!?”

                “What?!”

                “I got _one_ wonton! I got a tub of soup, and I got one split wonton!”

                For all her quirks, Abby was priceless, and Jillian could only smile before picking up her most intimidating blowtorch and pushing the button. Her coworker walked away to call the Chinese restaurant that they regularly ordered from, and Holtz took it as an opportunity to make an ass of herself;

                “Come here often?”

                The mysterious “Erin” turned and faced Holtzmann with a “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit” face, to which Jillian could only smile. She eagerly stuck out a hand and the Columbia professor shook it, before Abby barged in and they began arguing again. They had their fun pulling a classic fart-joke prank on someone so uptight, and it made Jillian’s afternoon. So far. But when Dr. Gilbert mentioned that the Aldridge Mansion was possibly haunted, Holtzmann’s heart lit up like a firecracker. She had to see this. She had to know that ghosts were real.

                And it had nothing to do with this “Erin”.

                Holtzmann slung the chrome duffle bag over her shoulder and slipped her favorite leather jacket on as Abby attempted to convince Erin to introduce them to the owner of the Mansion. The cabbie flashed them a glare, but she knew that it would be worth it to see Abby prove Erin wrong. Or Erin prove them both wrong. Either way, she wasn’t doing anything else tonight. Might as well seduce this pretty girl, too.

                The taxi ride was uncomfortable, to say the least. Holtzmann sat in the back with Abby, calibrating various pieces of equipment while Erin nervously chatted with the cabbie.

                “So you ladies are goin’ to hunt ghosts?”

                “The two in the back are,” Dr. Gilbert squirmed, “I’d be back in my office if I could be.”

                Jillian Holtzmann couldn’t help but laugh, because not once in her thirty-one years of existence had she ever considered tenure. The idea of settling down with a cozy job sounded so… stuffy. She pulled a Coke out of her leather jacket and unscrewed it quietly— lest the cabbie grow upset with her. She slipped an arm around a flustered Abby’s shoulders, silently reassuring her that, though her long lost best friend was here and making a mockery of their work, they were about to have a shit ton of fun.

                And the afternoon went from good to _great_ when the ghost dislocated her jaw and ecto-projected all over Dr. Erin Gilbert.

                Laughing all the way back to the lab, Holtzmann offered the chemical treatment shower, a towel, and a set of spare clothes that she kept in the box in the corner to the Columbia professor, who eagerly accepted. Abby remained silent for the next fifteen minutes, while Erin was showering, having pulled one of her books off the little table by the door. Jillian recognized the emotion that crossed Yate’s face— the feeling of not being recognized for your work.

                Erin stepped out of the emergency treatment shower with a shy smile, “It reminds me of the time we tried to look for ghosts in the old mine shaft outside of town… when we were kids…”

                She looked amazing in Holtz’s _Twisted Sister_ t-shirt and sweats, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Holtz felt obligated to look away, but kept shooting the esteemed professor curious glances as Erin sat down next to her long lost friend.

                “And I fell into that swamp before we even got to the base of the mountain,” Abby recalled, barely glancing away from the book.

                Jillian had the feeling that she wasn’t invited on a conversation so personal, instead deciding to watch the camcorder and relive the memory of the Aldridge ghost once more, in the corner of the lab. Erin and Abby discussed taking “Ghosts from Our Pasts” off of the market long enough for Columbia to review the tenure case, and out of the corner of Holtz’s eye, she could see the two holding hands and making promises of renewing their friendship.

                “You were right,” Dr. Gilbert nodded. “I’m sorry.”

                “I’m just glad you’re back.”

                “Listen, I’ll stop by tomorrow after work… and we’ll talk about what we saw, okay?”

                Abby stood and gave Dr. Gilbert a long hug, and Holtz began stripping. Wires! She began stripping wires! She crimped a connector on the end of a wire and glanced up to notice that Gilbert was staring at her, too. Jillian offered a sly smile and pretended to go back to her work— but something lingered behind when Dr. Gilbert strolled out of the lab. Something supernatural.

                But true scientists don’t believe in the “supernatural”; there’s no research nor evidence to back—

                Oh fuck it. Jillian Holtzmann had seen a fucking _ghost_ today. At some point, what she knew to be science had crossed a couple of boundaries. And she was going to solve these mysteries.

               

*             *             *

 

                This was a beginning of recognition for Jillian Holtzmann, even if their new lab was on top of a possibly hazardous (solely because Abby was like to blow up Benny one of these days) restaurant in the middle of Chinatown. But she had no limits— no fucking rules whatsoever. She could build whatever she wanted (with the knowledge that the budget for materials came out of her own pocket), and research whatever came to mind. And she had no classes to teach, which was probably the best part.

                She tapped the boom box, and _Rhythm of the Night_ began playing. She took the opportunity to dance in front of Erin, who seemed far too uptight for her own good. Sure, she may have set a few things on fire, but she’d gotten Gilbert to smile, and that was worth it. Something about the woman made Holtzmann want to go crazy with the dancing, to leap around and lip-sync like an idiot.

                Uh. Oh.

                Your typical Hollywood superhero had just walked into the room, flustering Dr. Gilbert and wowing Holtzmann with his stupidity. Unsurprisingly, as the only applicant Kevin had wound up with the job, and Jillian made a reminder to surround her lab equipment with the plastic play pen fence that one uses to keep out babies.

                “Welp, we’ve just hired a hunk of ham— both physically and intellectually— to answer the phones,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching, “I’d recommend Dr. Gilbert to wipe the drool off the corner of her mouth, but she’s too busy luxuriating in that beef.”

                Someone else wandered into their office, introducing herself as Patty. She explained that a ghost was haunting her subway station and Holtz broke out into a grin— ever since throwing this wacky band of ghost-hunters together, the days were as eventful as the time when Finals Week at Stanford had been set the same week as San Francisco Pride. Holtzmann fetched the cart, with her new proton-prototype, and wheeled the contraption into the dingy elevator. Everyone, including Kevin for some reason, followed her down to the streets. Abby and Erin had to patiently explain to the Aussie that he was _not_ supposed to accompany them on missions— to which his cheery demeanor faltered.

                Since no bus driver in their right mind would stop for four eccentric women pushing a cart of nuclear-powered equipment, Holtzmann had to push the cart all the way to the Seward Street Station. Thank goodness she kept in shape. It seemed that Abby and Erin were too busy trying to calibrate the PKE meter for heavier iconic discharge to help out with the cart, and Patty was leading the way through the heavily crowded streets.

                “We should’ve taken a cab. Erin, you wanna— never mind.”

                “What were you going to say?”

                Holtzmann shook her head, “Never mind. I’ve got it.”

                Her fingers were beginning to hurt as they crossed another sidewalk. Only three more blocks to go, however, and she didn’t want to bother the esteemed professor with pushing the cart.

               

                _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_

                All Jillian could think to do was run as the creepy prisoner ghost floated towards Erin. She didn’t trust her stupid proton invention one bit, but it was more than that. She was scared. Back at the Aldridge Mansion, she had the benefit of the doubt— the notion that a ghost, if it actually existed, couldn’t really do anything malevolent. It wasn’t so much that she was avoiding the slime this time, it was the dark tunnel and the creepy red eyes and the edge in everyone’s voices that had made her incredibly nervous.

                Holtzmann could hear the train approaching— the horn blaring with such volume that the ground beneath her feet rattled. She dared to glance back, realizing with a yelp as the train approached that the collar was still attached to Erin’s neck.

                _No. No! NO!!_

                Holtz leaned forwards and ripped the metal latch apart with her bare hands— a feat she hadn’t realized possible of herself— and let the collar fly out of her hands as a patch of slime hit her eyes. She winced when she grasped that the cart of expensive equipment had been crushed, and that their ghost had been captured by none other than the train. Patty made a quip that he’d be heading towards Queens, and Holtz could tell that it was taking every ounce of Abby’s will not to go chasing after it.

                “I almost died.”

                “Yeah, it was awesome!” Jillian blurted. She instantly regretted it.

               

                Later that week, on top of working on a new proton gun, Holtz had the idea to revamp Patty’s hearse. She knew that it would piss off the MTA worker, but she couldn’t help herself— having seen the most amazing logo forged by that graffiti artist in the subways. She carefully applied the paint on the door, having learned a bit of auto-detailing online the day prior. Holtzmann was in the middle of attaching a cute little ghost (and a not-so-legal license plate) when none other than Doctor Gilbert walked in.

                “Hey.”

                Holtz glanced up, “Hey there. Can’t sleep?”

                It was meant to be a joke— seeing as it was 4:00pm— but the circles under Erin’s eyes prompted Holtzmann to wonder if she’d slept at all the night prior. The brunette did not answer, merely sliding down the side of the newly white car and letting a sigh escape from her nose.

                “It’s so weird.”

                “Huh?”

                Oh no. Were they going to go into feely times? Surely Holtz was not acquainted well enough with Doctor Gilbert to have… a one-on-one? A heartfelt conversation?

                “Everything has changed,” Erin murmured, taking a swig of cider from a can. She then offered the drink to Holtz, who didn’t want to be intoxicated before finishing the detailing, but also didn’t want to refuse.

                So Jillian had a small sip and smirked, “How so?”

                “How s— HOW SO?!”

                “Alright, calm down there,” Holtzmann laughed. “Start with the basics.”

                “I thought for sure that I’d be sitting in my office kissing a certificate that said ‘tenure’, but for some strange… _crazy_ reason... I’m chasing my past and looking at a… a _stupendous_ future, to say the least.”

                Holtz couldn’t help it. Something fantastic about this Ghost Girl caused her willpower to crumple and an impulse to take over. She leaned towards Erin and gave her a peck on the cheek. And just as her mouth drew away, Erin Gilbert turned her face and pressed forth— properly kissing Jillian Holtzmann on the lips. The engineer’s breath caught in her lungs and she couldn’t breathe for a few moments as Erin calmly bit down on her bottom lip. Finally, she found some sense and raised her pale fingertips to trace Doctor Gilbert’s jawline—

                “I’m so sorry!” Erin whispered, breaking away all too suddenly for Holtz’s liking.

                Jillian took a breath to allow some oxygen to return to her brain, “Uh— no! I mean, it was great! You was great! Were! Were great!”

                The professor smiled brightly, “I thought any and all applicants for Ph.D.’s had to have some sense of grammar?”

                “My apologies… my circuits seemed to have frazzled.”

                “May I… may I kiss you again?” Erin asked, her fingers slowly trailing up Holtzmann’s arm.

                “Of course.”

                But the other woman paused, hesitating.

                “You okay?” Holtzmann asked.

                “I was just… I… um… what’s your first name?”

                The two of them broke into fits of laughter, Holtzmann properly introduced herself, and Abby found them lying on the floor with their legs propped up on the wall as they discussed all manner of topics— calling them down to dinner with a scoff. Absolutely unaware of what had just transpired, Yates walked back up the stairs to the lab and Holtzmann leaned to her side to give Erin a final kiss.

                “Is this… a something?” she asked, when they’d broken apart and stood.

                “A something? I wasn’t aware that engineers were affiliated with ‘somethings’,” Erin wisecracked.  

                “Technically I’m not usually affiliated with anything, but I think I would enjoy being affiliated with you,” the blonde retorted. “Doctor Erin Gilbert.”

                “I think I would enjoy that as well, Doctor Jillian Holtzmann.”

               

*             *             *

 

                Jillian Holtzmann has been recognized, but not for her skills. Rather, she has been recognized as a threat by thousands of ghosts floating through New York City. Her fucking town. Well that just wasn’t cool. At the moment, she’d found herself occupied with being… well… crushed to death. Yep. Holtz was currently being squished by a giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man balloon. What idiot even made that thing a ghost?!

                She could taste asphalt and oil in her mouth and tried to imagine what Erin tasted like instead, what with them being girlfriends and all. She figured that if she was going to die next to Abby and Patty, she might as well go out thinking of the missing member of the Ghostb—

                **_POP!!_**

                Holy shit! Holtzmann’s ears were ringing like phones, and for a moment she felt like Kevin whenever something next to him was loud, because the noise had somehow made her eyesight blurry. She rubbed her eyes and glanced up to see a tan object standing over her, winking flirtatiously and holding up a little red tool.

                “Proton packs are all well and good, but sometimes you need the Swiss Army Knife.”

                _“She kept my gift,”_ Holtzmann murmured aloud.

                “I figured it would come in handy,” Erin whispered in her ear, giving the engineer a hug.

                “Alright, let’s go get our idiot receptionist back,” Abby sighed, signaling them to follow her to the hotel. “We’re not going to find another one that pretty!”

               

                New toys. New toys. New toys. Despite the impending apocalypse, Holtzmann was having the time of her life slinging ghosts this way and that and witnessing her best friends tossing proton grenades at specters (the situation called for medium-large poofs). The giant… uh… was he a magician? Whatever he was, the towering ghost attempted to grab her with both of his hands but Jillian Holtzmann was just too fast. She shot the proton lasers directly into his eye and giddily laughed as he blew up. She hadn’t had this much fun with gadgets since blowing up the gymnasium at Stanford with AXE body spray (they never caught her).

                As the ectoplasm remnants of ghosts fell around her, Jillian let out a triumphant “you just got HOLTZMANNED BABY!!” and nearly laughed when Erin blew her a congratulatory kiss her way. She could get used to this girlfriend business.

                They walked into the Mercado with a confidence that… well… seemed a bit more like bravado. After all, this loser (who probably lived on Reddit and wore a tribble and vaped in people’s faces) had managed to open a portal into another realm. A realm that, a few months ago, Jillian Holtzmann hadn’t even believed in. But it was real, staring right back at her as she peered into the very depths of something scarier than hell. She rested a hand on Erin’s shoulder as Patty pushed the unconscious Kevin towards the door with her foot. The two of them shared a look— the “well looks like we’re going to be the cute couple that dies together holding hands trope” look— and they began shooting at Rowan’s ghost. What they were planning on doing with him while lacking a containment unit, Holtzmann wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she would protect Erin, Abbey, and Patty (and even Kevin) as best she could.

                Oh, and then the night became terrible.

                Rowan McRegrets turned into some sick and twisted version of their adorable logo, and suddenly the team was facing off against a malicious Ectozilla. The portal had ripped into a hole the size of a baseball field and Holtzmann felt sorry for whichever disaster response team what would have to clean that up. Somehow, Patty had the brilliant idea to… to throw away all of Holtz’s precious equipment. But if it meant saving the city (and potentially the world), the mad genius would do it. She closed her eyes as the car flew into the portal, thinking only of Dave and Thomas Holtzmann.

                “I love you Dad and Daddy. I love you both so much,” she whispered.

                If this didn’t work, she was going to die.

                And when the portal reversed into the world’s largest ghost trap, with beautiful crimson tendrils of light reaching out across Manhattan and pulling specters back into the eerie realm, Holtzmann promised to buy Patty Tolan approximately forty pairs of large hoop earrings.

                All four of them aimed at Rowan-Ghost’s crotch (she’d ALWAYS wanted to do that to a guy), and Holtzmann pressed the button with a determined grin. The tendrils of light dragged him into the portal, but not before his hand reached out.

                He grabbed onto Abby. And they went headfirst into the green light.

                “Shit!”

                “Oh damn!”

                “Abby!”

                It was Erin. Brave, esteemed, prestigious, and stupid Erin Gilbert who tied a rope around her waist and soared through the portal as it closed. As chunks of concrete sealed her and Abby into another realm. Jillian Holtzmann began to sob— that was her girlfriend down there! Her girlfriend and her best friend! What good was saving New York and the world if they had to sacrifice the two most amazing women out there?!

                Patty gave her an encouraging clap on the back and thrust the rope into her hands.

                “We gotta get them out of there!” Jillian sniffled.

                “Damn right we do, girl. Now start pulling!”

                She was a scientist. By all means, by all calculations and odds, jumping into the plane of the paranormal meant certain death. Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates only had slim chances of getting out alive, but when Holtz felt a tug pulling back, she knew that the two of them had managed to figure out something.

                And Jillian Holtzmann, after living and learning with the Ghostbusters, believed in ‘somethings’.

                Out they flew from the floor of the Mercado, and out the front doors as well. Erin tumbled straight into Holtzmann’s arms— and the engineer didn’t give two shits about PDA, kissing her deeply and with all the passion she could muster.

                “Oh, now’s definitely a good time to— yep, you do that!” Patty sighed.

                “What year is it?” Erin murmured, when their lips parted.

                With all the romantic suave she could muster, Holtzmann lowered her lips to her girlfriend’s ear and whispered, “It’s 2040. Our president is a plant.”

                “WHAT?!”

                “I’m kidding! Ow! OW! I’m kidding! It was a joke!” Holtz yelped, as Erin began smacking her on the shoulder. “I love the hair by the way!”

                “I suppose I’ll have to do some new research,” Abby smiled, tugging at her ponytail with a raised eyebrow. “At least we did it. We saved the day.”

                “That’s right. We all did it,” Kevin smiled, taking a bite out of a.. a sandwich?

                Jillian had forgotten about their lovable hunk of ham for a secretary. She kinda wanted to hire an intern or something to replace him, but as he playfully explained his antics during the apocalypse, she figured that she could wire up a robotic system to help them around the lab instead.

 

*             *             *

 

                Jillian Holtzmann has officially been… _unofficially_ recognized for her skills. Apparently the mayor’s ego was the size of Texas and he didn’t have the ovaries to thank them publicly like any sensible politician. Wait… was the phrase ‘sensible politician’ an oxymoron? Oh well. At any rate, she had a lab all to herself, a girlfriend calculating equations on the couch next to her, and a whole table of gizmos to play with. Abby and Patty were out on a bust, Kevin was downstairs attempting to make cotton candy for the gang— likely using Abby’s spare PKE meter, and an air of tranquility had fallen over the firehouse.

                _BOOM!_

                “Albert Einstein! What the fuck was that!?” Erin screamed, clutching at her chest with her free hand.

                “Sorry, medium poof.”

                “Jill, I swear on Marie Curie’s grave that _I will end you_ if you ever try that again without warning me!”

                “I didn’t mean to! Promise!” Holtz pouted, giving her girlfriend the Bambi Eyes.

                “Oh don’t you try that on me… that’s… that’s not going to work!”

                Holtzmann pulled off her precious yellow-tinted glasses and saw the world in regular color for the first time that day. It was always a strange adjustment for her eyes to make, and she simply sat there, staring at her favorite person in the world with a beaming smile.

                “What are you doing?” Erin blinked.

                “Oh… I just… I love you. That’s all.”

                Needless to say, Dr. Gilbert was speechless for quite a while as Holtzmann crossed the couch and sat on top of the former professor’s precious equations, in her lap. Jillian threw her arms around Erin’s neck and if it were possible she smiled even wider as she nudged their noses together.

                “I’m still mad at you.”

                “It was a medium poof,” Holtz whispered. “I’m sorry.”

                Erin rolled her eyes and shifted her girlfriend so that she could toss the equations on the floor, bringing Jillian closer and laying down on the couch with the engineer on top of her.

                “I love you too, you pyromaniac.”

                Their lips met again and again and again… with a few hickeys and two amazing orgasms underneath a nuclear reactor, Jillian Holtzmann found herself truly understanding something wonderful for the first time in thirty-one years. Happiness.

                The best part was that she had people to share that something with.


End file.
